


Trespass Sweetly Urged

by smolsarcasticraspberry



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bisexual Allura (Voltron), Bisexual Shiro (Voltron), Dom Shiro (Voltron), Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Hand & Finger Kink, Light Dom/sub, Rough Sex, not pictured: the author giving up any pretence of not having a major hand kink, shallura - Freeform, this fic exists because i have an over-active imagination and no impulse control, what happens when two bi disasters collide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-06-05 12:04:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15170375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smolsarcasticraspberry/pseuds/smolsarcasticraspberry
Summary: Allura, Crown Princess of Altea, has staked her reputation as a diplomat on her ability to make peace with the barbarian tribes on Altea's eastern border. When her treaty negotiations falter, her only hope is to reach out personally to Prince Shiro, the Warlord of the Five Tribes, to try and bring their nations together.He's tall. He'sdevastatinglyhandsome. And she has dreamed of his hands on her body more times than she cares to admit. But they are still enemies, and her forbidden attraction to him threatens to derail her diplomatic efforts completely.With only a week left before the peace talks end, Allura resorts to desperate measures to secure a private audience with Prince Shiro. Sneaking into his tent disguised as a servant, she comes face-to-face with the man who is both her enemy and her obsession. Her night-time visits to his quarters may yield the secrets she needs to finally make peace - but up close and personal, Shiro may be too much for her to resist.





	1. Author's Notes

Welcome, one and all, to Lu and Berry's Barbarian AU smut-fest! Featuring lust! Disguises! My not-even-remotely-subtle hand kink!

I don't really have a good explanation for why this fic exists, except that someone said the words "Barbarian AU" in a group chat and my mind _immediately_ went "Barbarian Shiro would be the ultimate dom". At that point my soul power-yeeted itself into the astral plane to contemplate the full meaning of existence, and when I eventually returned to my mortal body I found Lu in my DMs going "UHM TELL ME ABOUT THIS BARBARIAN AU?!?!?" and the rest, as they say, is history.

A few housekeeping notes before we get down to business:

  * This project is a collaboration between me ([smolsarcasticraspberry](http://smolsarcasticraspberry.tumblr.com/)) and Lu ([millennium-queen](http://millennium-queen.tumblr.com/)). It's the first full collab fic I've done, and because it's a collab with an awesome artist that means this fic comes with _illustrations_. As well as doing all the amazing drawings you're gonna see in this story, Lu also hashed out the worldbuilding stuff with me behind the scenes, and helped me figure out the story's plot and the characterisations. She also did all the character designs for the story. My descriptions are usually vague one-liners, but somehow Lu managed to take that and produce some super-cool Barbarian Paladins out of it. Working with Lu on this has been just about the most fun thing I've ever done in a fandom, and we're both super-excited to start sharing this pet project with the shallura fam.
  * This fic is explicit, as the rating suggests, but not _all_ the chapters are smutty. You can think of it as a sort of erotic novella (with illustrations) - there's some plot and worldbuilding in here too before we get to The Sin.
  * The first chapter I'll be posting is a prequel/prologue that I wrote a while ago for a friend's birthday. The full fic will start in Chapter 3.
  * Thanks also to [wingsofbadass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingsofbadass/pseuds/wingsofbadass) for help with beta-reading and editing and some great suggestions for polishing up the fic ready for posting.



Please subscribe or bookmark the fic if you want to catch updates, and you can hit up me and Lu on tumblr if you want to ask any questions about the project!

And now... **ONWARDS TO BARBARIANS.**

 

****


	2. Foreswear It, Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Allura Enjoys The View

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this prologue was written a while ago as a small teaser for a friend, but it's now been updated with awesome illustrations by Lu. it takes place a few weeks before the main story.

The afternoon sun danced through the leaves above her as Princess Allura strolled down the avenue at the heart of the sacred Gardens of Elayda. The lawns on either side of the central walkway would have afforded excellent views of the surrounding countryside - had it not been for the rows of tents now occupying the open spaces. On one side, the neat white pavilions of the Altean delegation, arranged in perfect lines. On the other, the bright tents and banners of the Tribes.

Coran had warned her not to 'mingle' with anyone, lest she 'create the wrong impression', but her old advisor had finally bustled off to attend to some urgent matters and Allura was not about to pass up the opportunity for an afternoon stroll.

She turned her face up and tried to catch some of the afternoon's golden warmth as the breeze stirred the treetops and sent the sunbeams scattering across the gravel of the walkway. If she were back home in Altea, in the gardens of the royal palace, she could forego her deep hood and her crown and the veil of silver chains that covered her lower face. She could sun herself on the lawns to her heart's content.

But here… in the middle of formal negotiations with the Five Tribes of the Eastern Plains… she could not afford to let the mask of royalty slip even for a moment. Even a casual walk through the gardens, on a rare day off from the relentless meetings, required her full regalia. The train of her dress trailed behind her - emerald green for today, embroidered in a pattern of leaves and flowers traced out in silver thread. A silver belt girdled her waist, and matching bangles tinkled on each wrist and caught the light of the sun as she strolled out from under the trees and onto the open lawns.

Here, beyond the bustle of tents and cooking fires, a pleasant quiet blossomed around her like the ghost of flower petals unfurling into bloom. Summer hesitated on the cusp of autumn, the breeze caught somewhere between refreshing and chill, the leaves just beginning to curl and blush at the edges. Bees searched the gardens for tardy flowers, and in the sky above the firebirds gathered for their own autumnal parliament.

At Mabontide they would fly south to escape the coming chill. Allura half-wished she could join them. It would be a welcome diversion from her current woes.

She had thought herself very clever, arranging negotiations to break the hundred-year deadlock between Altea and the Tribal nation, and then volunteering herself as the chief negotiator on Altea's behalf. In the few years that she had acted as a fully-fledged emissary in her father's court, this was by far the most ambitious project she had attempted. She had staked her entire reputation as a diplomat and a royal representative upon the success of these talks - and then promptly run smack into the wall of Altean stubbornness and intractable Tribal silence.

She sighed behind the sparkling chains of her veil, and risked pushing her hood back a little to let the breeze whisper through her hair. Why couldn't she have attempted something simpler? A small trade deal, maybe. Introduce a few regional laws. Inaugurate a library or something.

Her wandering journey across the lawns took her towards a distant stand of trees atop a small rise, and she let her thoughts drift as her skirts brushed the grass and flowers at her feet. At least out here she was afforded a brief respite from all the bickering, and from Coran's endless lectures about the need for decorum and restraint. Her handmaiden Bon followed behind her, humming quietly to herself and picking the tiny bellflowers scattered between the grasses.

Their walk took them in pleasant silence to the slope below the coppice, and Allura set off up the gentle rise without hesitation. She missed the daily exercise she'd taken back in Altea; here she'd spent the last two weeks sitting around, and her restless feet craved a little exertion to shake off her bad mood.

She reached the top of the rise, out of breath and cheeks pleasantly flushed, and stopped under the line of trees. The rise overlooked a shaded dell, where fallen branches and half-mossed stones made the terrain uneven and unpredictable. Perhaps that was what made it appealing as a training spot; for as Allura halted under the trees she saw at once that the hollow was occupied. By Prince Shiro and his companions.

Allura drew back, immediately, and motioned Bon to be silent beside her. The handmaiden grasped her arm and peered around her as they took in the sight before them.

Shiro stood in the centre of the dell, his bare chest rising and falling as he caught his breath, a scowl of concentration darkening his eyes and pulling his brows together. His hair was tied back into its usual topknot, the distinctive streak of white catching the glint of the sun, but his usual fur cloak and crown of horns lay discarded on a fallen log. He held a spear in his right hand - the magical prosthetic, a masterpiece of alchemical engineering.

Allura had often wondered how the thing worked, but without seeing it up close there was no way to discern its mechanics.

"Again," Shiro said to the man opposite him. His voice drifted up from the dell, stern and commanding, and his sparring partner squared up and attacked.

Allura recognised him as one of Prince Shiro's guards, and a constant member of his retinue. He was a small Galra who  wielded a knife bearing the distinctive insignia of Clan Marmora. He charged across the clearing, and Prince Shiro spun his spear and parried the knife, and then ran and rolled and turned and stood again and swung in for an attack of his own.

Allura watched him fight, fascinated and entranced by the elegance of it. Shiro fought like the wind through the trees; like a dancer picking up a beat no one else could hear. She realised at once why he had chosen this spot in particular to train with his entourage. He used the terrain to his advantage - the boulders, the branches, the sloping walls of the dell - they all became part of the dance. At some point the Galra guard drew his sword and attacked in earnest - only to land on his back less than a minute later.

He rolled away, groaning and clutching his ribs, and two more of Shiro's companions attacked. A dwarf with a battle-axe - dispatched swiftly when he lost his footing. A water nymph carrying a curved blade, who did a little better.

Allura barely noticed them, except as backdrop to Shiro's movements. She held her breath as she watched him through the leaves. The sunlight painted his skin warm gold, and every turn and move gave her another excellent view of him: his back, his chest, his shoulders, the cut of his jaw, the stern glint in his eyes. Muscles rippled across his back and torso as he moved, slick with sweat, gleaming in the afternoon light.

He spun the spear low and fast at the nymph's legs, and the nymph cursed as he jumped out of the way - and then caught the upswing of the spear full in the ribs. The muscles in Shiro's arms flexed as he moved, the motion almost hypnotic.

Allura found herself utterly captivated. She wondered what it would be like to feel those arms close around her; feel herself pulled close to Shiro's chest… A flood of warmth rushed down her spine, and she hastily pushed the thought away. What a ridiculous notion. As if she would ever hug Shiro… or feel his chest… or those arms…

In the dell below her, the water nymph charged again, and Shiro moved around and away. He caught the nymph off-guard and grabbed him by the wrist. Allura bit back a gasp at the speed of it. The nymph's blade fell from his hands and disintegrated into motes of blue light that vanished into the sunbeams. Shiro kicked his knees from under him and bore him to the ground, where he landed flat on his face in the moss and leaves.

Allura bit her lip, her heart hammering in her chest. The sight of Shiro knelt over someone, their arm twisted behind their back, awakened a series of delightfully inappropriate images in Allura's mind. It was such a _power move_ … such a display of strength and dominance… And he was so delightfully _physical_ , so utterly comfortable and confident within his own body… What would he be like as a lover? Allura blushed at the mere thought of it.

She cursed herself silently for her own lack of composure. It was bad enough that she kept daydreaming about Shiro during the more boring interludes of their meetings. She didn't need to add another layer of thirst on top of it.

Shiro stood up, still looking as stern as ever, and the water nymph grumbled as he got to his feet.

"Again?" Shiro said. He quirked an eyebrow at his companions, who all groaned.

"Don't you ever get bored of kicking our asses?" the nymph asked.

"I'm waiting for the day when I don't," Shiro said. He smiled, all confidence and self-assurance and easy grace, and Allura cursed under her breath. Stars above, but he looked _gorgeous_ like that… Hair mussed up by the exercise, bare chest glinting in the sunlight, muscles that looked like they'd been carved by the Five Muses themselves… She clenched her fists in frustration, and forced herself to turn away.

She snuck back down the hill with Bon by her side, as slowly and silently as she could, conscious of every movement of her jewellery until they reached the foot of the rise and she could breathe easy.

"That was interesting," Bon remarked. "Those guards didn't seem like servants. They seemed more like friends."

The memory of Shiro's easy grin blazed vividly across Allura's mind, like a firebird lighting up the night sky.

"Yes, they did, didn't they," she said distantly.

"He's rather nice to look at," Bon went on. She gave Allura a sly nudge.

"Ugh!" Allura groaned. "Bon, what am I supposed to do? I have to sit opposite him in every meeting! And he never wears a shirt!"

She stopped her walk and gripped the handmaiden by the shoulders.

"He's so gorgeous!" she wailed. "I want to lick his entire chest!"

"Wouldn't that take a really long time?"

"I'd do it anyway!" She threw her hands up in the air and resumed walking, kicking angrily at the grass as she went.

"What am I supposed to do?" she asked again. "I can't sleep with him! He's our _enemy_! I'd _literally_ be sleeping with the enemy!"

"Well if you get him to sign a peace treaty you could always sleep with him afterwards," Bon pointed out.

Allura groaned again, face turned to the sky. Her epic crush on the Warlord of the Five Tribes was about the only thing she had to show for her time here. She stomped back through the field in a cloud of annoyance. The firebirds still sang overhead and the sun still shone, but the only thing on her mind was Shiro's sculpted torso.

They reached the entrance to the tree-lined boulevard, and Allura paused.

"Uh… don't tell Falia what I said about Shiro, would you?" Allura asked.

"Why not?" Bon said.

"She gets this really judgey look in her eyes whenever I get a particularly… inappropriate crush," Allura explained. "And this one's about as inappropriate as they come."

Bon nodded in silent agreement and linked arms with her, and they strolled back through the campsite towards Allura's pavilion.

Still, Allura told herself as they made their way past the lines of white tents. This one wasn't too bad. Okay, so he was an enemy Prince, and she had to maintain a professional relationship with him otherwise the negotiations upon which she had staked her entire diplomatic career would go up in smoke. But… at least she could enjoy the view whilst her peace talks… collapsed… around her ears…

She stifled a sigh and another curse. She was doomed. Either by her diplomatic failures or Shiro's bare chest… one way or the other, she was absolutely doomed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much to everyone who left excited comments on the story so far, even though it was just the boring Authors Notes chapter! me and Lu are really hype to finally be posting this and sharing the fic and the art with the world. you can hit us both up on tumblr - i'm at [smolsarcasticraspberry](http://smolsarcasticraspberry.tumblr.com), and you can find Lu (and the rest of her amazing artworks) at [millennium-queen](http://millennium-queen.tumblr.com).
> 
> we're hoping to post a new chapter every Friday, so look forward to that in the coming weeks! as usual, you can subscribe to the fic if you don't want to miss updates - and feel free to scream in the comments even if it's just keysmashes <3 <3


	3. Both Alike In Dignity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Shiro Is A Distraction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was supposed to post this yesterday but uh. i forgot lol. anyway chapter 1! never before seen chapter!! never before seen art!!! it's got THIRST! it's got PINING! it's got Allura's highly inappropriate thoughts!

The problem was his hands. Allura couldn't stop staring at them, and it was getting distracting.

She tapped her fingers on the arm of her throne and tried to look anywhere but at the Warlord seated across from her. Unfortunately, the rest of the room did not offer anything that could compete with Prince Shiro of Tribe Kerberos for sheer aesthetic appeal. Which was unfair, Allura thought. They'd been at these peace talks for weeks, and in all that time she'd never once seen Prince Shiro wear a shirt - even as the first chill of autumn crept into the air and the breeze from the sea robbed the evenings of their warmth. She was beginning to suspect his bare chest was some kind of underhand negotiating tactic.

Her gaze drifted over the heads of her courtiers who sat or stood on the broad stone steps on either side of her throne. The stairs ringed the entirety of the circular hall, creating a shallow amphitheatre that overlooked the open floor and the Seal of Voltron set into the ancient stone.

The Altean Master of Trades currently stood at the bottom of the steps, pontificating loudly about why the proud nation of Altea could not _possibly_ concede any ground around the disputed river territory of Arusford. This speech was not going over well with the Tribes Folk gathered on the low benches and chairs on the opposite side of the chamber. Allura took in their faces, and the various expressions she found there. The leader of Tribe Olkari, Lady Ryner, looked annoyed. Prince Ulaz of Clan Marmora merely looked disappointed. The other tribal leaders and their representatives all looked similarly unimpressed.

Finally, her gaze found the face of their leader. Shiro, Prince of Tribe Kerberos, Champion of the Plains, Warlord of the Five Tribes… and the current subject of her hand-related obsession.

It didn't help that his official regalia seemed purposefully designed to showcase his impressive physique as much as possible. His formal outfit consisted of a belt of furs worn over leather trousers, and a fur cloak that hung thick around his shoulders and accentuated the breadth of his chest. As much as Allura tried not to stare at him, it was hard when he sat directly opposite her. The sunlight streaming in from the high windows painted his muscles in patterns of light and shade as he ran an idle hand through his beard, seemingly intent on the subject at hand.

Allura's gaze drifted from his fingers down to his shoulders, and the stump of his right arm, criss-crossed with rough scars. Around his right bicep he wore a circlet of black metal, inset with glowing purple stones - the power source for the magical prosthetic that replaced his right arm. The prosthetic itself was crafted from black skyrock and carved with glowing purple symbols depicting a stylised lion form. Rumour had it, the arm was a gift from the Druids of Daibazaal. It was also the source of Shiro's most famous epithet: the Black Lion.

Allura's attention shifted to the metal fingers, resting lightly on the handle of the huge battle axe that lay across Shiro's lap. Would those fingers be cold? Or warm, from the arm's internal magic? How would that hand feel trailing across her body, tracing the curve of her thigh, dipping between her legs…

She shook herself out of her fantasy. The movement rippled through the golden veil that concealed the lower part of her face, and the coins and chains jangled suddenly. The Master of Trades paused in his speech, and the courtiers looked up at her expectantly.

Allura cursed her own wandering thoughts. She had no idea what the Master had even been talking about. She straightened up in her throne and cleared her throat.

"I think we should move on to other topics," she declared. "I believe we were discussing reparations for the destruction of Taman after the Clay Wars. Master Tidus?"

A groan went up from the Altean delegates, accompanied by some aggrieved muttering from the Tribal representatives. Allura fought the urge to roll her eyes. When she risked a glance at Shiro, she found him watching her with interest, but as their eyes met he looked immediately away. She glanced quickly aside, thankful that the veil over her face concealed her blushes. At least he couldn't tell how distracting she found him. No matter how much she stared at his hands.

 

In the end, the meeting concluded without progress. The delegates filed out, still grumbling and arguing amongst themselves, and the Hall of Elayda gradually emptied. Allura struggled to disguise her tiredness and frustration as she stepped down from her throne and descended the five broad stone steps to the centre of the Hall.

She paused and glanced down at the Seal of Voltron inlaid into the floor. The huge roundel filled the central floorspace - it was easily ten paces edge to edge, and the white stone carvings extended almost to the bottom of the circular steps. It was supposed to be a symbol of unity and co-operation. Right now, it seemed to be mocking Allura in her efforts to forge peace.

It had seemed like such a good idea. Bring the Alteans and Tribes Folk to the sacred neutral territory of the Gardens of Elayda, and try to finally hammer out a peace treaty. But a one hundred year history of wars and border squabbles had dragged her down like an anchor. No one could see past it - from her own side, let alone the Five Tribes. No one wanted to appear weak by offering up concessions.

Her father had given her until Mabontide to make some kind of breakthrough. And Mabontide was only a week away. If she didn't come up with something soon, she would be summoned back to Altea in disgrace. She scowled at the thought, and ran her toe over the lines of the Voltron Seal beneath her.

"Excuse me."

The words stirred her from her contemplations, and Allura looked up to find Prince Shiro standing beside her. She glanced over his shoulder, but for once his retinue of guards and servants was absent.

"I was interested in your thoughts on the Taman situation," Prince Shiro went on. "I can't help but notice that you keep bringing it up."

Allura opened her mouth, and hesitated. But the courtiers had all left, and only a few servants remained in the hall.

"You mean the reparations?" she said.

"Your minister seems to think there won't be any," Shiro said.

Allura regarded him carefully. His hand rested lightly on the pommel of his sword, and the horned circlet he wore in place of a crown gave him a powerful, other-worldly appearance. But his grey eyes were thoughtful as he met her gaze, and she sensed the layers of intelligence and strategy at work beneath the façade of the dangerous barbarian warlord.

"I'm prepared to reconsider the matter," Allura said carefully. "I have to protect Altea's interests, of course, but that doesn't mean reparations are completely out of the question."

Shiro's eyebrows rose just a fraction, but otherwise his expression gave nothing away.

"Perhaps we could meet in private," he suggested. "We could discuss the issues in more detail?"

It was an excellent idea, with the only possible downside being Shiro's inexhaustible capacity to distract her from the matter at hand. The thought of being alone with him for any length of time sent a delicious thrill down her spine. Would she even be able to concentrate on the negotiations? She was prepared to give it a try for the good of Altea; but before she could give Shiro an answer Coran materialised at her elbow, as if summoned by the mere suggestion of someone being alone with the Princess under his protection.

"I don't think your father would approve," Coran murmured in her ear.

Right. Her father's instructions. _'No private audiences'_ had been a binding condition of her being allowed to even attempt this. It would ' _send the wrong message_ ' apparently.

"I'm sure we could make an exception for Prince Shiro," Allura said, although she already knew it was hopeless. "A private meeting could be very productive."

"I promise to be nothing but respectful," Shiro supplied helpfully.

Coran merely scowled at him. "Her Royal Highness does not grant personal audiences," he said stiffly. "Especially not to enemy leaders."

Shiro glanced from Coran's face to Allura's, and his smile faded.

"Of course she doesn't," he said. "My apologies for asking. Excuse me, Princess."

And with that he strode out of the hall.

"Why did you have to say that to him, Coran?" Allura asked. "These negotiations are never going to go anywhere at this rate!"

"You can't go meeting up with these barbarians for cosy chit-chats," Coran scolded her. "It's undignified. Think of your father's reputation. That kind of meeting is completely beneath you."

"But if it can help us make a breakthrough…"

"And what would your father say, hmm?" Coran went on, ignoring this. "Now come on. We should get you back to your tent before it gets dark."

 

Of course, Allura's real problem wasn't Shiro's hands - or his resolutely bare chest, or the way he kept creeping into her private thoughts at the most inopportune moments. Her actual problem was the diplomatic stalemate she'd found herself trapped in. King Alfor thought negotiating with barbarians was beneath the dignity of the Altean royal family - and many of the ministers who'd accompanied Allura to the Gardens of Elayda tended to share her father's views. Their attitude rubbed the tribal leaders the wrong way - and it didn't help that the Tribes Folk already viewed the Alteans with mistrust. Her best efforts at overcoming a century of acrimony had all resulted in failure.

She picked up her skirts and made her way down the steps of the Hall of Elayda. The ancient stone building stood on a small rise overlooking a wide, tree-lined avenue that ran down the centre of the sacred gardens. On one side of the walkway, the Tribes had set up camp, and the lawns were covered with a patchwork of brightly-coloured tents, fire pits, flag poles, and strings of lanterns draped between the trees. On the other side of the boulevard, the tents and marquees of the Altean delegation stood in neat lines, and the banners of the Royal House fluttered in the breeze.

The wind tugged at Allura's hood, and she shivered at the chill of it. A flock of firebirds took off from the trees, shaking the branches as they soared into the sky and wheeled up into the clouds like scraps of living flame. Some of the leaves were already tinged with the first blush of autumn - yet another reminder that Mabontide was fast approaching. She could practically see her father's disappointed expression already.

Allura walked down the avenue beneath the trees, stewing in thoughts and frustrations, followed by Coran and her other servants. Her passage drew attention from both sides of the Gardens: guarded scrutiny from the Tribes' side, and respectful bows and murmurs from the Alteans. The promenade itself had become a _de facto_ neutral territory where both Alteans and Tribes folk strolled in the evening sunlight, but the officials from both sides still glanced uneasily at each other as they passed.

The servants apparently had no such hang-ups. Groups of them sat or stood and chatted under the trees, Alteans and Tribes folk side-by-side, sharing food and stories or helping each other with their various chores.

_There's a lesson there somewhere_ , Allura thought, as she watched a group of serving girls burst into raucous laughter over some shared joke.

She turned aside at the gravel path that led to her pavilion, and endured the polite bows and salutations of the Alteans before she finally ducked into her tent. Coran excused himself to fetch her dinner, and the serving girls scurried in to help her undress.

The marquee was rustic compared to her usual palace apartments, but it was well-appointed nonetheless, with comfortable chairs and benches arranged in the main space around a brightly-coloured rug and a small table. Altean lamps hung from the ceiling, filling the tent with a soft white light, and thick curtains separated out a space for bathing and sleeping in privacy.

Allura pushed aside the curtains and flopped gratefully onto the bed. She unfastened the heavy gold belt at her waist and threw it down beside her. Her handmaiden, Falia, gave her a wry look as she tugged off Allura's shoes.

"It didn't go that badly," Falia offered.

Allura huffed a sigh. "It went terribly," she muttered.

She pulled the hood from her head, and the other serving girl - Bon - helped her out of the long outer robe and carried it off to be hung and aired. Allura reached up and unfastened the veil of coins and chains that hung from the gold circlet on her forehead, and Falia laid it carefully in its tray before helping Allura remove her bangles and earrings.

It was all part of appearing… diplomatic. Regal. Creating the right impression, as her father would say. The gold and jewels conveyed Altea's wealth and prosperity. The traditional hood and cape portrayed the kingdom's wisdom and rich history. The veil that covered her face was a mark of status and nobility; the crown an obvious symbol of royalty.

_"These are the weapons with which we fight the war of words,"_ her father had told her before she left. If that were truly the case, then they weren't very effective. Appearing rich and noble and wise had got her precisely nowhere. The Tribes still didn't trust her, and her efforts at moving things forward had run aground on the rocks of Altean stubbornness.

"You could still go and see Prince Shiro, if you wanted," Bon offered. "I'm sure he'd be very understanding."

"It's tempting," Allura said. "But Coran would probably self-combust."

Still, she wondered about the possibility of a private meeting as she ate dinner and the maids brought in hot water for her bath. When she was done eating, she soaked in the tub whilst Bon oiled and twisted her hair to preserve the curls. She was still contemplating ways of making a breakthrough in the negotiations when she retired to bed, and Bon and Falia disappeared into the living area to tidy up and lay out the morning's clothes.

Allura lay in bed in the dark, mulling over the day's events. Her thoughts strayed to her conversation with Shiro after the meeting. And then just to Shiro himself, as a general concept.

Stars curse her, why did she have to find him so attractive? Over a month of negotiations, and all she had to show for it was an infatuation that wouldn't leave her be and some severe sexual frustration. Goddess of Charms… his hands! Ugh, his arms… that bare chest that seemed to mock her from every angle!

She bit her lip in silent frustration, and her hands drifted of their own accord to her thighs. Not for the first time, she contemplated sending Falia on a discreet mission to find her someone to warm her bed and take care of her needs. There were a few servants and courtiers who could be trusted to keep their mouths shut and not cause a stir - and the court in general turned a blind eye to such activities as long as they weren't too obvious. But the courtiers were mostly straight-laced and boring, and the servants were all far too deferential to be truly satisfying.

Whereas Shiro…

He had the look in his eyes of a man who'd take charge. She could imagine it all too easily. Strong hands gripping her hips; his beard tickling her neck as he kissed down her jawline… he'd push her onto the bed and pin her arms above her head and take her hard and rough…

Her left hand found her breast and she teased at her own pert nipple, sending a ripple of pleasure coursing through her skin. Her right hand dipped between her thighs and she began to rub herself in gentle strokes as she imagined all the ways Shiro could make her scream if only she could get her hands on him.

She paused when she heard voices from the other side of the curtain: Bon's voice, raised in laughter, and Falia hushing her. A third voice - was that Ethrin? It sounded like Ethrin - declared proudly: "I did! It's true!"

"You never did," Bon countered. "I don't believe you."

"It's true," Ethrin said. "I fucked him in his tent."

The sound of Bon's disbelieving laughter and Falia's "oh ho ho!" carried through the thick fabric of the curtain, and with a jolt Allura realised they were talking about Shiro. He had something of a reputation - among the servants at least. According to campsite rumours, several young men and women had been seen at various times emerging from Shiro's tent looking rather flustered and pleased with themselves. And Ethrin had been serving some of the Tribal leaders since the delegations first arrived. By the sounds of it, she'd caught Shiro's attention.

In spite of herself, Allura tried to listen in to their conversation. At Bon and Falia's insistence, Ethrin was now describing how the tryst had come about.

"You have to let him know you're interested," Ethrin declared. "Otherwise he won't even touch you. But I… dropped a few hints, and he got the message."

"So what happened?" Bon asked.

"Well he just looks at me and says: 'take off your dress'. And then he sat there and watched me strip, and all the time he's wearing this really intense expression, like he can't wait to have me."

Allura stifled a groan. Stars above, she could imagine it, too. His expression… those fierce grey eyes burning into her… Her fingers resumed their delicate movements, spurred on by the servant-girl's words.

"Then he goes 'come here'," Ethrin continued. "And I cross the tent and he starts kissing me. And that was it. He was all over me."

"What's he like?" Bon asked. "I mean… you know…?"

"Well he's… you know… big."

Allura groaned out loud this time, but thankfully the outburst of giggling from the other side of the curtain concealed the noise of her pleasure. She rubbed herself more urgently as desire built up in her core, flickering out across her body like lightening.

"He's rough, too," Ethrin went on. "Like… he knows what he wants. He wanted to bend me over the table, so he just… turned me around. And then he whispers in my ear 'how would you like to be fucked like this?' I swear. It was amazing."

Allura gasped for breath as another surge of longing coursed through her. She could picture it all too clearly: Shiro, with that self-assured smile on his face, arms wrapped around her as he cupped her breast, telling her exactly how he planned to fuck her… Her finger moved faster, teasing at her clit as she sought release.

"So did he…?" Bon asked.

"Oh yeah. He fucked me at the table. That happened. Like… oh goddess! Listen! He had his hand in my hair just like… pulling and pushing, and he just took me right there at the table."

The sound of their excited laughter covered the moan that escaped Allura's lips. Oh, he _would_ \- he would, too. In her imagination, Shiro had her bent over, taking her hard and rough from behind. She bent her legs and rubbed herself harder, close enough now to feel the shape of her climax as desire rolled through her. He'd whisper something filthy in her ear as he thrust into her, and she could imagine his hands on her hips and her thighs, gripping her waist as he went deeper, one hand grabbing a fistful of her hair as he rode her to her undoing…

Her hand clenched in her pillows as she came in stifled gasps. Pleasure pulsed through her, rippling out of her in waves, leaving her limp and breathless. She subsided onto the bed as she rode out the aftershocks and tried to get her breath back.

From the other side of the curtain, she heard the serving girls leave the tent, still giggling delightedly. Allura put one shaking hand on her forehead.

She was doomed. Completely doomed.

On the other hand… Ethrin's adventures had given her an idea. There were a few Altean servants who waited on the Tribal Leaders, as was traditional for these kinds of negotiations. The servants could come and go as they pleased, even into Prince Shiro's personal tent.

He'd asked for a private meeting, hadn't he? Admittedly, this probably wasn't what he had in mind, but… it would give her an opportunity to see him in more unguarded moments. She couldn't possibly request an audience through official routes without incurring the disapproving wrath of Coran. But disguised as a servant girl, she could feel out Prince Shiro and suggest something a little more… discreet. After all, he had no idea what she looked like under the gold veil. Perhaps he'd let something slip in front of a servant that he couldn't possibly say in the formal negotiations. Perhaps he'd agree to a secret meeting arranged by a trusted handmaiden carrying her Princess's messages.

And if Shiro happened to take a shine to her, and decided to have a little fun… well that was just an added bonus, wasn't it? Totally justified. Absolutely necessary to keep up the ruse. Probably a good way to earn his trust, if anything. Definitely an allowable indulgence, given the circumstances.

This could work. It was risky, and would require careful planning. And the right dress. And a convincing cover story. Something about… being a gift from Princess Allura. A gesture of kindness or something.

But it would work. She could make it work. She would have to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no chapter next week, because Friday is Voltron Day, but updates will resume the week after.


	4. Too Early Seen Unknown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Allura puts her plan into action

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the slight delay in updating this - S7 threw everyone for a bit of a loop and we put updates on temporary hold. but now we are back! and here's a new chapter! :D

Allura mentioned her plan to Falia and Bon the next morning, while the two girls fussed over her hair and jewellery.

"I need a disguise so I can sneak into Prince Shiro's tent," she said matter-of-factly.

"What in the six great hells are you going to do that for?" Falia asked. She slipped a bejewelled ring onto Allura's finger and selected another from the jewellery box.

"I need some inside information," Allura said smoothly. "Something that will help us break this deadlock."

No need to mention any… ulterior motives.

"Can't you just send someone else to spy on him?" Bon asked, as she threaded gold beads into Allura's curls.

"Uh - no. If I go myself I might get the opportunity to speak to him alone, and then I can tell him who I really am and why I'm there."

Bon seemed to accept this on face value, but Falia gave Allura a flat look as she picked out a pair of heavy earrings to match Allura's dress.

"Is this going to be like that time with the sleeping potion and the archery competition?" she demanded. "Because I'm not going back to jail for you."

"No! I just need to… get into his tent so I can try and talk to him."

Falia's eyes narrowed. "You're not going to seduce him for information, are you?" she demanded.

"No, of course not!" Allura said, doing her best to look innocent. "That would be completely irresponsible."

Falia tutted as she slipped heavy bangles onto Allura's wrists, and gave Allura a look that suggested she didn't believe a word of it.

"I don't know where you come up with these schemes," she muttered. "Alright. What do you need?"

"A dress that a servant would wear," Allura said. "And I need to know exactly when the maids bring him his supper."

 

The morning's diplomatic meetings went off worse than the day before. Allura sat on her throne and tried desperately to keep her composure as the debate ran in circles. At least her gold veil concealed her scowl of annoyance.

They just could not agree on _anything_. It was hard to make any progress with her own ministers always ready to shout down every suggestion. The pressure to represent Altea's interests hung heavy from her shoulders. She did not speak only for herself, and every word had to be carefully considered. The weight of that responsibility stifled her, and she second-guessed every statement and sentence.

Her gaze strayed to Prince Shiro again and again, like a compass needle swinging around to true north. She wished Coran had not rebuffed his offer of a private meeting. She couldn't help but feel that they would accomplish a lot more if she wasn't constantly being interrupted by the Master of Trades or the Treasury Minister.

Tonight. She'd go and see him tonight. Then she'd have a clearer idea of what she was dealing with.

After hours of fighting and squabbling, Allura called the meeting to a close and ushered everyone out of the hall. As she descended the steps she caught sight of Prince Shiro in the doorway. He looked back at her, flanked by his guards and companions. His retinue came from every tribe, and Allura had come to recognise his closest companions by sight. One of them she knew by name: Prince Ryou, one of Lady Ryner's assistants, and Shiro's identical twin. Rumour had it they had been separated during infancy and reunited by chance, years later.

As Allura watched, Prince Ryou leaned over to say something close to Shiro's ear, and a hint of a smile tugged at Shiro's lips. He glanced over at Allura and met her gaze. For a moment, it seemed like he wanted to try and speak to her again. But Coran appeared at her elbow, and Shiro turned away and strode off down the steps without saying a word.

 

When she got back to her tent, Allura dismissed Coran to deal with some trivial chores and set to work planning her infiltration of the Tribal side of the gardens. Luckily, Falia had secured the perfect outfit.

The dress was plain dusky blue, with a simple fitted bodice, long sleeves, and a hemline somewhere below knee length. Most of the Altean serving girls wore something similar, and it would allow Allura to blend in with the general flow of servants moving back and forth around the grounds. Shiro, along with most of the Tribal leaders, had no idea what she looked like beneath her habitual gold veil, so disguising her face would not be necessary. Shiro took supper and coffee in his tent after sunset, and Falia had arranged with the kitchen staff to have _"one of Princess Allura's maids"_ take the tray in place of his usual servant.

"Do you think it will work?" Allura asked, as Falia pulled her hair into a high ponytail similar to the style worn by most of the servants.

"I think you'll be in more trouble if it does," Falia replied.

She caught Allura's expression, and softened.

"Remember to keep your head down," she said. "Don't act like a Princess. Be deferential. And… try not to start a war, will you? We've got enough trouble on the borders as it is."

 

Falia's words of warning echoed in Allura's head as they made their way through the camp at twilight. Bon had spent the afternoon scouting the garden and the layout of the tents, and had come up with a roundabout route that would allow Allura to cross from her marquee to the kitchen area unseen, and thence to Shiro's tent via some concealed pathways between the shrubberies. Although her outfit rendered her somewhat anonymous, there were plenty of Altean servants milling around on both sides of the gardens - and many of them would still recognise their Princess, disguise or no. The fewer people who knew about this particular ruse, the better.

Allura pushed down her nerves as she followed Bon along a quiet gravel path that brought them out near the back of the open-sided marquee that served as the camp's main kitchen. Here, the mingling of the two sides was more obvious than anywhere else: Altean and Tribes servants worked side-by-side, cheerfully preparing dishes that mixed the best of their respective cuisines. The smoke from the cooking fires rose up into the evening air and obscured the early stars just starting to wink into life in the darkening sky.

"Wait here," Falia said. She disappeared into the throng of laughter and cheerful voices, and reappeared a few moments later with a wooden tray lined with green and gold tiles. It held an elegant silver coffee pot with an arched spout, alongside several small cups and a plate of sweets, nuts, and fruits.

Allura took the tray from Falia's hands.

"Don't spill it," the handmaid teased, before they set off again into the twilight.

Bon's path brought them out close to Shiro's tent, and Allura paused in the shadow of a juniberry tree to take in the layout. Armed guards stood at the corners of the rectangular pavilion, and two of Shiro's companions stood station at the main entrance. On the open lawn in front of them, the banners of the Five Tribes fluttered proudly in the breeze, and strings of coloured lanterns looped away from the tent posts towards the trees.

"Just go in, put down the tray, and act deferential," Falia said. She fussed at Allura's hair and tugged the bodice of her dress into a more acceptable position.

"I'll be fine, Falia," Allura reassured her. "I'm just going to talk to him."

"We'll be waiting here when you come out," Bon added.

Allura nodded to both of them, and took a steadying breath. Then she straightened up and walked out under the coloured lanterns.

The two guards at the entrance turned immediately when they saw her coming. Allura recognised both of them from Shiro's retinue. One of them was a naiad who wore Clan Mer's distinctive blue armour. The other was a Balmeran dwarf - but so tall and sturdy for a dwarf he stood almost as tall as the water nymph.

They exchanged quizzical looks as they watched her approach. Allura stopped in front of them. The tray in her hands felt like a shield.

"I have Prince Shiro's supper," she said.

"I can see that," the naiad said, eyeing the coffee pot. "Are you new or something?"

"Yeah, what happened to Ethrin?" the dwarf asked.

"I am Princess Allura's personal handmaiden," Allura said. She gripped the tray tighter to stop her hands from shaking. "The Princess asked me to wait on Prince Shiro as a gesture of goodwill."

The guards shared a look, and then they both shrugged. The naiad reached behind him to lift the flap of the tent.

"Hey, Shiro!" the dwarf called. "Your supper's here!"

"And dessert!" the naiad added, which earned him a glare and a cuff behind the ear from his companion.

Allura left them bickering with each other, and bit back a sigh of relief as she ducked into Shiro's tent.

 

The tent flap fell closed behind her, and she glanced around at the interior. A large table took up most of the central space, strewn with documents and quills. Lamps hung from the ceiling, illuminating a seating area to one side where three low benches stood in a rough U-shape, covered in brightly-coloured cushions and throws. Fur rugs covered much of the tent's floor, and a curtain to one side screened off the sleeping area.

Shiro stood at the table, scowling at a map of the kingdoms. Away from the negotiations, the accoutrements of his position were nowhere to be seen; instead he wore plain leather trousers and a simple cloak pinned at the shoulder. He glanced up as she walked in, and straightened slightly. His eyes flickered from her face to the dress she wore, and the tray of coffee and refreshments in her hands.

Allura held her breath and forced herself to look down.

"Your supper, my lord," she murmured.

She risked a glance up through her bangs. Shiro regarded her thoughtfully, and for a moment she feared he would recognise her. But the moment passed. He gestured towards the seating area, and Allura crossed the tent and set down her tray on one of the small end-tables.

"Thank you," Shiro said. He still watched her from behind the table as she straightened up, his piercing grey eyes intense and unreadable. A question seemed to hang in the air.

"I'm Romelle," Allura supplied. "Princess Allura asked me to wait on you tonight."

The corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile. He sauntered over from the table and stopped in front of her.

"Oh really?" he said. "Why's that?"

Allura looked up at him, his face painted in warm golds and dark shadows by the lamplight. This close, she could feel the warmth radiating from his bare chest and smell the scent of him: musky and masculine, mingling with the smell of coffee and incense.

"The Princess thought you might find me pleasing," Allura said, her mouth a little dry.

Shiro's eyebrows rose. "So you're a gift?"

"She meant… you might find me pleasing to look at," Allura clarified.

"She's not wrong there," Shiro said. He took a step back so he could shamelessly look her up and down. "You're absolutely delightful."

Warmth rose in Allura's cheeks, but Shiro only smiled at her. He flopped down on one of the benches and turned his attention to the tray of food. It was such a casual gesture that Allura found herself staring at him. He never looked like this in negotiations. It was a whole other side of him.

He poured himself coffee and glanced back up at her. Too late, Allura remembered she was supposed to be a servant. She should probably have excused herself and disappeared by now, instead of lingering around gawping. But Shiro didn't seem surprised. He gestured at the table and the benches.

"Since you're here, you might as well clean up a bit."

Relief poured through Allura's veins, and she obeyed his commands just to escape his scrutiny for a few minutes. She pulled a tray from one of the benches and piled it with empty jugs and dishes. That's what servants did, right? Should she… should she tidy up the clothes? Fluff the pillows? Offer to make the bed?

"Can you sew?"

Shiro's voice behind her startled her so much she almost dropped the tray. She turned to find him watching her with that familiar intense expression.

"I… uh… a little," she stammered.

"Good." He reached behind the cushions and pulled out a cloak. "You can mend this for me. There's a needle and thread in the chest."

She followed his pointed finger to a wooden chest just in front of the curtains that partitioned off the sleeping area. A few seconds of rummaging unearthed a bundle of sewing supplies, and Allura crossed the tent to take the cloak from Shiro's hands.

"Sit here," he told her, gesturing to the floor by his feet. He threw a cushion onto the rug. "You can keep me company."

A tiny thrill of excitement skittered down her spine. Her plan might actually work after all. She wondered if he made a habit of sitting around and exchanging idle small-talk with the servants, or if her self-appointed status as "Princess Allura's gift" qualified her for special treatment. Maybe he thought she might be useful to him somehow. Whatever the reason, it seemed wise to go along with it. She could see what he let slip. Maybe throw in a few innocent-sounding questions.

And if he happened to find her charming and interesting to talk to, well, so much the better.

For the mission, of course. Not… anything else.

She settled herself cross-legged on the cushion and found the hole in the cloak that needed mending. It wasn't exactly court-approved embroidery but… sewing was sewing, wasn't it? She pulled the edges together as best she could and set to work.

"So. Romelle, was it?" Shiro said. Allura glanced up to find him looking intently at the sweet cakes and candied fruits on the tray, but she had no doubt his attention was all on her.

"That's right."

"What do you think of the Tribes, Romelle?" he asked. He selected a syrup cake from the tray and took a bite out of it.

Allura concentrated on pulling the needle through the fabric in front of her as she searched for a response. What would an Altean servant say to that? A dozen possible answers paraded across her mind, but she dismissed all of them. Romelle was an invention. A fiction. Romelle could say whatever she wanted. Even things Princess Allura could never say.

"I think they're a very interesting people," she said. "I know we have our differences, but the Tribes have always struck me as a complex and intelligent culture."

She forced herself to look up and see Shiro's reaction. He scrutinised her face, eyebrows raised, and she wondered if she'd gone too far. But then he cracked a smile.

"It's nice to know there's at least one Altean who doesn't think we're all vicious savages."

He licked the syrup off his fingers, and Allura tried not to stare at the way his thumb disappeared into his mouth or the way his lips caressed his fingertips. He had such beautiful hands… she mentally shook herself and turned back to her sewing.

"Do you think peace is possible?" Shiro asked. "Between the Alteans and the Tribes, I mean." He put another syrup cake in his mouth and waited for her response.

"Yes." The answer came out before she could stop it. But she believed it so firmly - so fiercely - that that belief had driven her all the way out here, against the better judgement of her family and her people, powered only by an unshakeable dream of better things.

"Our quarrels are ancient history," she went on. "And an alliance would benefit both our peoples. But unfortunately we're both stubborn, proud nations who don't want to give any ground."

"That's one way of putting it," Shiro said. He met her gaze, and once again stuck a syrupy finger in his mouth to lick it clean. This time she was almost _sure_ he did it slowly and teasingly on purpose; as if he knew she liked it. She tried to ignore the hitching of her breath and the growing heat between her thighs and turned her attentions back to her sewing. Apparently, he was just as confident and self-assured in private as he appeared to be in their official meetings, and that knowledge sent a flood of inappropriate thoughts scattering through Allura's mind.

"The problem is," Shiro went on, "Alteans think the Tribes are all savage barbarians who run around slaughtering children and ravishing pure chaste Altean women."

Heat rose in Allura's cheeks at his words. Because… he was right. Many Alteans _did_ believe that. Those stories were whispered to every Altean child growing up to scare them into good behaviour.

"And the Tribes think Alteans are boring and passionless and stuck up," she countered, before she could stop herself. "You think we're weak and cowardly just because we're not always at war over some ridiculous quarrel."

She regretted the words almost immediately. Romelle was a servant girl; talking back to the Warlord of the Five Tribes might have consequences beyond a few raised eyebrows. Not to mention Falia's warning not to start a war by accident. But when Allura looked up into Shiro's face, he burst out laughing.

"Is that why Princess Allura sent you? To prove us wrong?" he asked. "A servant with no manners to prove that Alteans have courage and passion after all…?"

A knot of anxiety formed in Allura's belly, and she dropped her head.

"Forgive me, my lord."

He laughed again. "No, no - don't stop now. You're doing great."

She looked up to find him smiling at her in amusement. He didn't seem remotely angry or annoyed. And the guard outside had called him 'Shiro', and addressed him very casually… interesting.

Shiro gestured at the syrup cakes in front of him.

"Have you ever had these?" he asked.

She had, of course. But Romelle - a lowly servant girl - would probably never have tasted such a delicacy. So she shook her head.

"You should try them." Shiro leaned forward and picked up one of the syrupy sweet treats in his left hand. He held it out towards her.

"Open your mouth," he commanded.

She obeyed. Her mouth brushed his fingers as she took the cake out of his hand, and he trailed one fingertip across her lower lip before he pulled his hand away and watched her eat the cake. Allura feigned surprise and delight as she chewed and swallowed.

"It's good," she said, trying to sound like she'd never had anything like it before.

"The experience isn't complete without the syrup," Shiro said. He locked eyes with her, and held out his hand again. His thumb and the first two fingers were sticky with the sweet aftermath of the cake.

"Go ahead," he told her.

Allura's gaze flickered to his thumb, held up in front of her face. She parted her lips and took it into her mouth: thick and strong, tasting of sugar and cinnamon against her tongue. Something fierce and wild stirred in her core; she ached for him inside her, for the feel of him filling her completely. She locked eyes with him and pulled her mouth up the length of his thumb, lips sucking all the way up until they slid off his fingertip.

He grinned at her in a way that sent fire coursing down her spine, and presented his forefinger for the same attentions. She sucked it clean - slowly and deliberately - and then did the same for his middle finger. She ran her tongue over his fingertip and tried not to think about those fingers skimming her inner thighs. Or the broad length of them sliding into her, caressing her, teasing her towards release…

From the smirk on Shiro's face, he seemed to have an inkling of the direction of her thoughts. But he didn't say anything. He poured another cup of coffee and set it down on the table in front of her.

"Did you know that before the war, the Five Tribes almost formed an alliance with the Alteans," Shiro said. "But before the treaty was signed, Clan Mer was attacked by an ancient creature called the Bakku. The Clan sent messengers asking for the Alteans to help but… the Alteans never came. The Tribes saw it as cowardly, and a betrayal in our time of need. It led to mistrust and arguments, and eventually the alliance collapsed."

Allura took a sip of the coffee to buy herself time to think. Everyone knew the tale of the Bakku, of course. She wondered what Shiro was really asking her.

"I know the story," she said carefully. "The Alteans accused the Tribes of lying, because no messengers ever arrived asking for help."

"The messengers were eventually found dead in the mountain pass," Shiro went on. He had his eyes fixed on the coffee cup in his hand, as if suddenly fascinated by its pattern. "Killed by Galra weapons. Or at least - so it seemed."

Allura held her breath, and focused on the needle and thread in front of her eyes. Shiro's words seemed to linger in the air. She'd heard that part of the story as well - an outlandish rumour, muttered only in the most private of discussions. Altea had a long-standing alliance with the Galra Empire. The suggestion that the Galra might have intervened in the Bakku affair was considered little more than a fanciful conspiracy theory. Mentioning it in public was tantamount to political suicide.

For Princess Allura, at least. But… Romelle didn't technically exist.

"Perhaps the Galra Empire opposed the alliance," she said. "Perhaps they did what they felt was necessary to safeguard their own interests."

She looked up into Shiro's scrutinising gaze. He considered her for a long moment, and the slightest hint of a smile played on his lips.

"Maybe you're right," he said.

"Do you know the story of Princess Merla?" Allura asked.

He poured himself another cup of coffee and sat back on the bench.

"Everyone knows that story. She ran off with Lord Thace of Clan Marmora, didn't she? And then the Alteans claimed Thace abducted her against her will."

"Did you know Princess Merla was supposed to marry a Galra Prince named Sincline?" Allura asked.

Shiro's brows furrowed slightly. "No. I didn't know that."

"The marriage was supposed to cement the alliance between Altea and the Empire. But Merla objected to the match. She loved Thace. When they eloped together, the Alteans feared the alliance with the Galra would fall apart, and so they claimed Thace abducted her.

"Merla denied it, of course. She wrote many letters to her sisters and mother explaining her decision, and begging them not to blame the Tribes for her disappearance. But in the end… the treaty with the Galra was seen as too beneficial. And it was easier for our people to believe that a barbarian warlord had carried Merla away in the night, rather than believe she was truly in love with him. So her letters were sealed away in the Royal Library, and the truth behind Merla's departure from Altea was silenced."

Allura risked a glance at Shiro's face. His expression was somewhere between confusion and amusement. She found the look oddly endearing. She'd never seen Shiro look so… gentle.

"Is that why Alteans think Tribes-men like to seduce Altean women and carry them off in the night?"

His voice was light, but there was an edge to it that spoke to some deeper distaste.

"It's part of it," Allura said. "But I think the Galra also… encouraged this view. So that Alteans wouldn't trust the Tribes."

"Did it work?"

And again… something more than curiosity flickered in his eyes.

"Yes. Unfortunately. It's based on nothing but rumour, but many Alteans believe it as truth."

"Do you?"

She remembered suddenly - vividly - some of the tales she'd been told as a young woman, and the warnings whispered by tutors and old aunties about the dangers of mingling with the men from the barbarian tribes. And she remembered, too, that she'd heard these stories a dozen times over before she ever met a Tribes-man for herself, or had the chance to form her own opinion.

"No," she said. Firmly. Decisively. "I always thought it sounded like fanciful gossip. Besides. I could never see what was so terrible about falling in love with a barbarian. It seemed to work out just fine for Merla."

Shiro studied her face, as if looking for some hint of a lie. Then he chuckled.

"I can see why Allura sent you," he said. "You really are a delight."

Allura turned back to her sewing to hide the flush in her cheeks, and Shiro lapsed into silence. She thought he might be done talking for the night, but she'd only done a few more stitches when he spoke again.

"Why did Princess Allura call for this negotiation?" he asked.

Once again, Allura weighed the value of the truth. She'd come here looking for answers; for insights into Shiro's character, or some opening or opportunity. Their discussion so far had been more honest - and frankly more productive - than any meeting they'd had yet. And Romelle did not need to guard the truth so carefully as Princess Allura.

"She believes in peace," she said. "That it's possible. And that it would benefit both our nations more than the current… hostilities."

"And yet she doesn't offer anything new," Shiro countered. "Her advisors do most of the talking, and we're mainly re-treading old ground."

Allura's mind raced as she sought for a way to explain her own position. "The Princess has to answer to her people. And to her father, the King. She can't afford to make Altea look weak."

"In the Tribes, this is called 'gripping the axe'," Shiro explained. "It's when someone calls a parlay but refuses to offer any concessions. We expect the person who requested the talks to be the one to bend first. To make the first good offer. When they don't… we say they're 'gripping the axe'."

"The Princess doesn't carry an axe," Allura pointed out.

"Maybe not literally."

He held her gaze for a moment, and then his eyes dropped to the cloak in her hands.

"Are you finished?" he asked.

"Yes." She held the cloak out to him and hoped it would pass muster. He took it from her hands and held it up to the light. The patch she'd mended didn't quite lie straight, but Shiro smiled anyway.

"You can go," he said. His voice seemed to come from a distance, and some of the intimacy of their conversation drained away - and Allura remembered that she was speaking to the Warlord of the Five Tribes, after all.

She stood up to leave, and picked up the tray of dishes from the table. As she reached the tent flap, Shiro's voice stopped her.

"Romelle," he said. He still held the cloak in his hands, and he ran his thumb over the fresh stitching as he spoke. "Tell Princess Allura… I appreciate her thoughtful gesture."

"Yes, my lord," Allura said.

"Oh - and since you're here for me to enjoy looking at," he added. "Why don't you wear something that lets me see a little more of you, hmm?"

His eyes met hers, and a slight smile tugged at his lips. Allura let herself smile back.

"As you wish, my lord," she said, and ducked out of the tent and into the night.


End file.
